Free Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) by Ally Shields Page A

“No, I’m just getting a headache.” She rubbed her temples.
    One of the patrol cops came in the front door. “We found a gun outside. A SIG Sauer. Smells like it’s been fired, but we didn’t touch it in case of prints. My partner stayed with it.”
    Coridan turned to look at Maggie. “Don’t you carry a SIG?”
    “I have two. But my primary is behind me on the counter,” she said, waving a hand toward the pistol. “My backup is in the nightstand.”
    “I’ll check to see if it’s still there.” Coridan disappeared behind the dividing wall.
    Brandt placed a call to the crime scene techs before turning back to Maggie. “Any idea how he got in?”
    “None. I hadn’t been home long. Maybe twenty minutes. But I’m sure the door was locked when I got here, and I locked it again behind me. It’s automatic. Do you think he was already inside?” She cringed at the uncertainty in her voice.
    “We’ll have a better answer after the scene is processed. Do you have someplace to stay tonight where you’ll feel safe?”
    Was he kidding? Maggie straightened. Maybe she deserved that question. Hadn’t she been playing the what-if game with her head a few minutes ago like some rookie? “I’m not leaving. Nobody’s chasing me out of my apartment.”
    The corner of Brandt’s mouth twitched, and he turned away. “Suit yourself.”
    Had he deliberately goaded her?
    “No gun in the nightstand,” Coridan announced as he returned.
    Maggie sighed. “Then I’d bet my prints are the only ones you’ll find on the gun outside.”
    Brandt didn’t stay long, and Coridan left as soon as Maggie assured him again she was all right. The techs arrived, dug the bullet from the fridge door, checked the locks on her apartment, and left, presumably taking her spare SIG back to the lab. It was nearly two o’clock when her apartment was finally empty and quiet again. Surprisingly, she fell asleep immediately and slept without interruption.
     
     
     
    By eight she was contemplating the cost of a new refrigerator and drinking coffee at the kitchen counter when Coridan called.
    “The lab put a rush on the evidence from last night, and you were right. The gun is registered to you. The bullet from the fridge is a match, and the only prints on the SIG are yours.”
    “So he wore gloves. Not a surprise.” She took a sip of coffee.
    “That’s one interpretation.” His uneasy hesitation was obvious.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t get upset, Maggie, but they’re questioning whether there was an intruder.”
    She straightened. “I don’t understand. Someone thinks I imagined it? Or made it up? What about the bullet? Am I supposed to have shot up my fridge too?” When he didn’t respond, she demanded, “Who’s they?”
    “Not me.” His mild tone, clearly intended to be soothing, grated on her nerves. “I believe your version, others don’t.”
    “Who?” she repeated. “Brandt? The captain?”
    “They don’t know you as well as I do.”
    She dropped into a kitchen chair. Could things get any crazier? “Did they actually say that?”
    Coridan snorted. “Does it matter? If they haven’t yet, they will. It’s what the evidence says.” He ticked off the damning points. “Your gun, your fingerprints, no forced entry, not finishing the job even though you were unarmed. The story’s all over District 13.”
    Oh god. Her face burned. Could she ever set foot in the precinct again? She couldn’t even talk about it right now. “Thanks for telling me, Coridan, but I’ve got to go.”
    “Are you OK? Maggie, I’m sorry I upset you, but I thought you’d want to know. Shall I come over?”
    She bit back an angry response. It wasn’t his fault. “I’m fine, but I have things to do. I’ll call you later.”
    Maggie disconnected before he could pour on more sympathy. She was sick of being treated like a helpless or unstable victim. So she’d better quit acting like one and start thinking like a cop again. Which she